Visitor by the Window
by ScaryElwes
Summary: He watches her sometimes, just to check on her if anything. Before his very eyes she blossoms and grows, until she finally finds a voice of her own. Something of a drabble.


_A/N: My obsession for Labyrinth has only blossomed recently, but I have to admit that this pairing has always intrigued me. It's a bit of a guilty pleasure ship, I guess you could say. I also have many opinions about it, as it has the potential to be a very unhealthy relationship. I tried to convey that subtly with this, and how it would conflict with such a strong and grounded character as Sarah. I think I'd get along with her very well as a person, so it was easy to tap into her psyche. Underground has been on repeat for over an hour with no signs of stopping, so hopefully this is set in the appropriate mood. Read on. _

**Visitor by the Window**

Sarah sat cross-legged on her bed, sorting through various books and trinkets and deeming which ones she wanted to pack. Her record of the musical Cats was playing softly, filling her somewhat stripped room with familiar ethereal voices.

In exactly one week, she would be leaving everything behind to start her new life as a young woman in New York City. She'd received a scholarship through school, and would be studying theatre, her ultimate dream come true. Sarah already had some recollections of the city, as she'd gone with her mother to see Broadway plays multiple times. They were some of her most cherished memories.

As they usually were on Friday nights, her father and step-mother were out together, leaving her to watch over Toby. They probably had no clue the weight of the similarities this night held to one that had occurred exactly three years ago, but she did. She'd been counting the days and months from the moment she'd first gotten home after successfully reclaiming Toby.

The little one in question was asleep in what had recently become his new room with a big boy bed. He'd been growing and developing well over the years, displaying a maturity that only Sarah could pinpoint the source of. It gave her a strange sense of pride to be the only one who understood why his first uttered word had been 'goblin'.

Sarah didn't mind babysitting for him as much as she'd used to. Quite the contrary, in fact. Her adventure in the Undergroud had given her a more rational mind, and banished away her more childish tendencies. And it went without saying that it also bestowed upon her a strong need to always protect her half-brother.

It seemed that what was now a crazy memory would always be thought of positively from now on. Except for maybe one certain part of it.

Sarah was debating on which copies of her Shakespeare plays she wanted to take when she sensed the presence. After three years, it was only natural for her to constantly be on alert for it. It always seemed to inject into her the same feelings of anxiety, and oddly enough, anticipation. The degrees of these emotions weren't ones she'd felt since the Labyrinth itself.

She rose from her sitting position to face a plain barn owl resting on the tree outside her window, the source of all of her misgivings. It watched her with a peculiar level of attention for an animal of any sorts, and she expected nothing less of it. This _was_ how the creature's visits usually proceeded.

Every few months, Sarah would find herself being watched by the owl, whether it was through a window or only a few feet away outside. It would linger for only a few minutes, but those minutes were enough to permanently stain her memory. She'd come to expect them, looking somewhat disappointingly around her surroundings if the owl didn't make an appearance based on the schedule she assumed it had.

She was never quite sure what the reason was for these visits, but Sarah liked to think that the owl was checking on her. Testing her to see how strongly she remembered its Labyrinth, or if she had any inclination to ever come back. And though it was unlikely, she had an intuitive feeling that it also making sure she was simply okay. It was a comforting notion to have.

Thinking of all of the changes that were taking place in her life, Sarah approached the owl. She placed her hand on the cold glass of the window, showing that she wanted its attention. She'd acknowledged the creature in previous visits, but never before had she openly addressed it.

For a few moments, they only appraised each other.

"I'm not going back," she stated. Though a thick layer of glass was erected between them, she had no doubt that it could hear her. "I can have Hoggle and Ludo and everyone else by my side with a snap of my fingers. I don't need to go back."

The owl visibly ruffled at this, its feet adjusting themselves on the shaky branch they'd perched on. Sarah searched for a way to explain what would be happening very soon in her household. She owed the owl nothing, she of course knew that. But she still felt some need to assure it.

"I'm leaving for New York in a week. To go to school and live there. It's a city far away from here, and it's far more impressive than your Labyrinth ever could be."

And while Sarah spoke with honesty, even she had to admit that New York would most likely never hold as much meaning to her as the Undergroud did. Though, she didn't need to tell the owl that. Based on its stance, it probably already knew, anyway.

"You can keep on coming over if you'd like, to check on me. I wouldn't want to deprive you of that. Looks like you'll just need to learn a new address."

Despite herself, contempt had found a way to trickle into her voice. _No_. She would not stoop to his level, no matter how enticing he made it appear to her. She'd gone through too much peril and sacrificed too many things to do so now.

Sarah settled with gazing intently at the owl, memorizing the exact tawny shad of its feathers, those black unblinking eyes. This would be, after all, the last time she'd see it for some time.

What had she been told, about her eyes being so cruel? She wondered if that's how they looked now, or if that's the way she even intended them to look to the owl. A part of her most certainly didn't.

"Goodbye, Jareth."

And Sarah yanked the curtain shut.


End file.
